The Moon that got me home again

A mirror of the future fell over me today- a one am taxi'd waited for too long, rode off with me as it turned and returned down the hill a tarnished golden pregnant moon minted long aeons past benignly watched our voyage. It banished impatience and the pacing wait within in my need to escape, the parchment moon hung in the taxi's windscreen as it returned with me down my steep slope down to the valley and the road into the city. I felt fey with all the uncounted dangers and pleasant strangers I passed and might met once I walked along beside them on the streets of weekend wonders. Only half way along the street was abrupt with violence the half crazed with pain and stimulants were forced to the ground, by the deft and offensively defensive men in blue who threw them to ground. Sirens blazed to the vicinity of the nights rupture of empty men's pain, and from all directions men and policewomen appeared as if they had risen from chip wrapped strewn pavements. At least there not after me I consoled myself, though I considered getting another taxi home.
I bypassed them criss crossing the road I found a penny, the panic of the violence the roars of hate, I left behind and walked on to what ever destination the night had gifted me. I found myself at a watering hole, no original thought had taken me there, but only the memory of my feet that seemed to led me nowhere else, I found myself there as if past and now and those seconds after had already collided and my final destination was what it always was. A side door to a club, where once I had danced, tossed beers down my throat, where smiles and hopes of love still lingered on the dancefloor.
But I see now that the past had always muisguided me I stood alone plasticwrapped in sound, and as I stood and drank the beer, wondering were they always so beautiful in here? But in that now-ness as I reached for a fallen fifty pee I smiled as I remembered the insanities of dance I had gyrated. I stretched up as if the beauty had not lost my face and now no longer would, tendrils of the future held me tall and I was blind, disguised me from myself and as I finished my drink I saw the ghosts of me I had shed long before, still dancing, nimbly, caught in masscara eyes and lips to touch. I did not linger and left my ghosts play as I walked back out into the orange cobbled streets.
The future pushed me up the crowded rowdy streets to the bus that would take me home, the ghosts of now, the shoes of my past sauntered along the teeming streets as if unwilling to be rid of me so soon. The future met me with the bus drivers smile. I looked down from the top deck and I heard the ghosts blessing me with goodbye, and river of colour and freshness danced long limbed and lithe found the shoes that the past had made me leave behind, put the tight about their bare feet and dance as if a solambulater would dance. And left me dreaming all the way to morning.

St Swithan's Day and swithering

Will be St Swithan's Day the morn according a calender. I hope he has good one. All the work on the kitchen and bathroom is completed. I read two chapters of a novel I'm writing and denounced writing in all it's forms, especially mine. Then in the dusklight I wrote the end of a story. The rain is relentless, yet bold Eva is once more out. Soon tomorrow will become. My daughter is back from Tunisia and she will be seeing me soon. She's playing football this week. Have a happy St Swithan's Day in blogland and beyond.